Hubris
by Schingiuire Vristalica
Summary: Verbal spar between Abraham and Dracula on gods and worshipers.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Hellsing nor any of the characters.

The metal was so cold it burned the skin over his back. Dracula stared upward, choosing to not turn his eyes to the men who secured his wrists to the table with cables and straps. Several other cables stretched over his body, holding him down but he did not struggle or lunge at them, not while Abraham was in the room. The man watched silently some feet away, hands clasped behind his back.

Dracula spared not a glance for any of them, closing his eyes when one of the men leaned over him to check some clasp. Above the din of their mumbles and conversation, the vampire heard the tap of Abraham's approaching footsteps. Dracula twisted his wrists from where they were secured and stretched over his head, leaving him with a vulnerable helpless feeling he couldn't shake.

"Repent and this shall all be needless," the man's voice stated from above him.

Dracula opened his eyes, meeting with Abraham's knowing gaze. "Who are you to judge me and preach what shall be right and what shall be named wrong?" Dracula countered in a dull, bored tone designed to mask his apprehension at again being submitted to the tortures of these men.

"I am your god now, vampire. I control every aspect of your pathetic life."

"Call yourself what you wish, but I do not worship my food."

Abraham's eyes narrowed and he leaned over, close to the vampire's prone form. "Whatever feeds you is your god."

Dracula spat, his teeth bared as his mask of resignation shattered. "I haven't been the religious type for centuries."

Abraham wiped the spittle from his cheek and only returned the vampire's rebuttal with a smirk. He looked up, nodding to the men once they had made sure the vampire was fastened tightly. "Leave us," he ordered, turning and choosing a simple, silver plated scalpel from a platter of tools.

The men quickly filed out, closing the door with an echoing creek of metal hinges. "Vampire," Abraham began, turning to his blank canvas of Dracula's chest and tilting his head to the side, an artist calculating his first stroke. "A god is not a religion. A god is a force that controls what you cannot."

Dracula glowered, his eyes flashing, refusing to let his eyes wander to the implement in Abraham's hand. "A god is a force that demands worship and offerings from others. How exactly do you claim to be my god? You do not feed me, you throw me scraps. You do not protect me, you torture me. You exploit me any way you can. You are hardly a god."

Abraham leaned over the vampire's chest, touching the tip of the blade to the dead flesh. Dracula hissed through his teeth as a tiny stream of smoke curled from the contact. "That is really a matter of opinion, beast. A god does not necessarily have to provide for his worshipers. Nor does he have to be merciful." Abraham pushed the knife slightly, separating the skin at the center of the vampire's torso, just below the ribcage. "A god can give, take away, breed misery, or reward." He moved the knife slowly downward, creating a thin cut from the base of the ribcage to the belly button.

"You are a lowly human on a power trip," Dracula snapped, his body tremoring sporadically as the silver burned deeper into his muscles.

"Am I? From what perspective?" Abraham focused his eyes on his handiwork as he made several small cuts across the vampire's abdomen, slowly peeling the skin back to tack it to the sides of the table, exposing the layers of muscle. "To you, I fit every description of a god. My very mood affects you drastically."

Dracula grit his teeth, hissing when Abraham began sawing through the thick layers. "A god is something worshiped. It doesn't need to have power. A statue can be worshiped. Without worshipers, the god does not exist, but fades into memory. Claim all the status and omnipotence you want, but in the end it's only hubris."

The human only smiled, splitting the muscles apart and peeling them back. Dracula made no further sound, for such muscles were vitally important in filling the lungs with air necessary to speak. "I would never expect such a godless creature as yourself to understand. However, in the end," he mocked Dracula's words. "You have no choice but to, ah, worship me as you put it. I have you. The slave worships the master, for gods of divine natures have abandoned them. I shall take my offerings from you as I see fit." To punctuate, he separated a sliver of internal tissue within his subject's body and dropped it into a nearby jar.

"Bastard," Dracula growled, his voice weak as Abraham folded the flesh and muscle back into place and allowed it to heal. Pain danced in the vampire's eyes, fighting hate for the dominate glow as he twisted and fought to rip into the human.

Abraham leaned close, just out of reach of snapping fangs and smirked. "You can call yourself my high priest if you like."

"I'll build you a temple of rat shit and roach wings," Dracula roared, slamming his head back onto the table with a loud rattle.

"I look forward to complementing your architectural skill," Abraham laughed, closing the sample jar and straightening himself. "Remember, I'm always watching," he smirked, exiting the lab.


End file.
